Too Many Chances
by Eliana Panthera
Summary: Harley always goes back, no matter what. And Ivy doesn't know how much longer she can take it. -Harley/Ivy-


**Title: ** Too Many Chances

**Genre: **Angst, Romance

**Rating: **NC-17

**Pairing: **Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy

**Summary: **Harley always goes back, no matter what. And Ivy doesn't know how much longer she can take it.

**Warnings: **Angst. Always angst

**Notes: **This actually sprang from the third section. I wrote it and wasn't mean enough to publish it by itself like I wanted to, so this happened. Feedback would be wonderful. I'm not totally happy with it (mainly the last section), but I never really am, huh?

XXX

_"I don't blame you for being you  
But you can't blame me for hating it"_

-A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me" ; Fall Out Boy_  
_

**I.**

It's cold.

Poison Ivy, much like her plants, hates winter. The frigid temperature crawls under her skin, from the roots of her hair to the very tips of her toes. It clings to her muscles and buries itself in the warmth of her bone marrow. She wilts against it, her body rebelling, constantly dragging and lethargic no matter how much sleep she gets.

And it puts her in a terrible mood that she can't seem to fight, no matter what she does to shake it off.

She's sitting in her living room, cocooned in blankets and basically drowning in the layers of wool and fleece. Her teeth still chatter audibly, fighting against each other as they dance around her mouth and tremble against the insides of her chapped lips.

The sound of soft footsteps on the carpet would have gone unnoticed over her shivering and teeth-chattering and endless bad mood if it weren't for the fact that Harley Quinn slams her shin into the coffee table in the attempt to avoid bumping a plant. The younger woman lets out a muffled curse and plops down on the couch next to Ivy, pulling the damaged leg to her chest. Somehow she's wearing only a t-shirt and sweatpants, and she seems completely comfortable. Ivy decides to seethe a little bit more, in envy this time.

Harley smiles sympathetically, drowning Ivy in those impossibly blue eyes, drawing her in with her perfect cheekbones and soft pink lips and wild blonde hair. She releases her reddened shin and leans over, already picking up Ivy and her collection of blankets as she says, "Let's get you warmed up, Red."

Usually, the gesture would have been humiliating. But Harley is strong and her breath is warm against Ivy's skin as she carries her bridal-style down the hall. The red-head relaxes into it. She lets Harley settle her into the bed. She lets the jester curl up against her, tangling her limbs around Ivy's trembling body and fitting their curves snugly together. She places warm, open-mouthed kisses on Ivy's throat and the shelf of her jaw. And Ivy just lets it happen. Sometimes, with Harley, she can give up her need for control. She can simply fall into it.

Really, she knows it's a bad idea. There are alarms going off in her head. The walls around her heart are trying desperately not to crumble. Because she knows. She is almost positive that, when she wakes up in the morning, she will be alone with her plants and her blankets and the bone-deep cold that will stay for months.

Harley always goes back.

And maybe for just a moment, Ivy tries to resist. But before she can really put any effort into it, Harley breathes "Love ya, Pammie," into her skin and she just..._can't_.

So she falls asleep in Harley's warm arms, even as her heart reminds her of her fate.

When she awakes the next morning, Ivy finds that it was right the entire time.

The fact that she is no longer surprised at all hurts more than anything else.

XXX

**II.**

Ivy has come to realize that Harley Quinn, bad ideas, and heartbreak all go hand-in hand. And at the moment, she is indulging in all three, her mind torn between the moment and the consequence. Present or future. Which to choose, which to choose?

Her decision making skills are seriously compromised at the moment. She can't think anything but _this will hurt you _and _this feels so good _and her mind is refusing to unravel the paradoxes as they swell and sink inside of her skull.

Harley's head is clamped between her thighs. She has her fingers tangled in that soft blonde hair, and her whole body is arching and shaking and collapsing in on herself. There are harlequins dancing around her head and white-hot bursts of pleasure colliding with her from every angle. Harley knows how to drive her insane. She's everything Ivy needs and she knows exactly how to draw up a storm inside of her. Ivy can feel the lightning cracking under her skin and the thunder rolling through her bones.

And she knows, in that single part of her brain that can still function when all she wants to do is _screamscreamscream _because there's no more room in her body for the pleasure she's feeling, that this is an awful idea. That letting Harley touch her and fuck her (Love her? No, no, this is all just a game for the girl) is so incredibly stupid, because Harley's mind belongs to that goddamn clown. And even though she can completely shatter the control Ivy has spent so long building up, even though she can make her come so hard she can't breathe (and her vision blurs, and her muscles go limp), she doesn't feel the same way. She will leave and Ivy will go back to being alone and bitter, with another piece of her shattered heart following Harley back to the Joker. Mistah J will always come first, and that hurts more than anything.

Those thoughts are somehow beginning to take over when she finally reaches the peak, and she cries out Harley's name like a prayer even though her chest starts to hurt. She falls apart at the seams as her whole body shakes from the mixture of pleasure and the pain in her very core. Embarrassing, hot tears drip down her cheeks as Harley crawls back up her body, dropping kisses along the way. She notices them and whispers soft words of comfort as she gently wipes them away with her thumbs.

And Ivy hopes she gets it. She hopes that Harley will see how much she's hurting. How much she wants her. How much better she could be for her than the Joker. How _weak _and _pathetic _ and _alone _Ivy has become without Harley Quinn (a human-a stupid human being she knows she shouldn't rely on).

Like usual, getting her hopes up turns out to be a bad idea.

XXX

**III.**

There's a clatter as Harley's bowl of cereal slips from her lifeless fingers. Milk and painfully sugary cereal splatter across the floor like some sort of wild, abstract painting, Harley's arms fall limply to her sides and her mouth opens and closes a few times. All that escapes are a few ragged breaths and a couple of muted whimpers.

_I'm in love with you_. The words are final. Unquestionable. They swim through the mess on the kitchen floor, fighting for space in the area between Harley and Ivy's feet. Ivy can't move. She can't breathe. Her entire body is seizing up and she feels like she's drowning in the poison that pumps through her own veins.

It had just slipped out. Against her will. Ivy is always so in control. How had she slipped up like that? Her tongue flops awkwardly against her teeth as she tries desperately to _take it back_, "H-Harley, I-"

"Ivy...I just...I need to go. I'll see ya around," Harley interrupts her, voice strangely high. She turns quickly on her heel and walks over to the door before Ivy can really react. It's only when the doorknob clicks and Harley starts to step outside of the house that her body finally seems to regain function.

Her voice sounds too weak, too broken, and for a moment she doesn't think it came from her body, even though she feels her lips forming the words, "Where are you going to stay?" Her only answer is the sound of the door closing a little too harshly. It seems to echo in the awful, cloying quiet.

And then Ivy is alone, standing in Harley's goddamn Fruit Loops.

XXX

**IV. **

It's a month later when Ivy sees Harley again. She's in a _grocery store _of all places, wearing some half-assed disguise, not really caring if Batman catches her or not (maybe if she ends up in Arkham, Harley will be caught again soon and they can share a cell. And that's when Ivy knows she's insane. Wanting to get thrown in Arkham. To _see _someone).

Harley looks like she cares about as much as Ivy does, and the red-head wonders if things are just bad with Mistah J (though when are they ever _good_? When he's not currently in the process of beating her?), or if Harley misses her too. Every day has been an endless collection of regretting, silently hating herself for being an idiot and letting her feelings out of her steel-cage heart, taking her frustration out herself by working herself too hard with her experiments, sleeping only when she can no longer think enough to function.

Emotions are too complicated and overpowering and Ivy constantly catches herself wishing that she was a plant just so she wouldn't know the pain of loving someone and screwing up. The sight of Harley only makes those emotions worse. They form a knot behind her sternum, crushing her lungs and splintering her ribs.

"Harley," Ivy manages to keep her voice from cracking as she greets her. Harley's blue eyes seem older than usual, but filled with a new wildness, a new...fear, almost. Her chin quivers and she takes an instinctive step away from Ivy, looking like a caged animal. Ivy feels her stomach turn violently and resists the urge to vomit. The shards of her bones cut her heart to shreds and blood fills her stomach cavity. She can feel it and smell it-cloying in her nostrils.

Harley manages a too-curt nod and speaks in a tone hardly above a whisper, "Pamela." And that's when Ivy feels her eyes burn with tears (tears so stupid and weak and _humanhumanhuman_. Pamela would cry. But she's not Pamela any more. She's _Ivy. Red._ And hearing Harley call her by her _old _name is even more painful than the days spent waiting for something...anything).

Ivy frantically searches for words, trying to find something to say that will make things different. Her mouth opens but all that comes out is a heavy breath. Harley looks at her feet, gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head, and walks past her without another word.

Ivy manages to suppress her tears until she gets to her car.

XXX

**V. **

A week later, Ivy is sitting on her couch with a book, reading the same paragraph over and over, the words tumbling right out of her head as soon as she finishes. She hears the knock on the door, and for a moment, she thinks she's crazy (crazier than usual, at least) and just imagining things. Then, a moment later, there's another soft beating of knuckles on wood, and Ivy forces her numb muscles to function. She walks slowly over to the door and pulls it open.

Harley is standing there, her face a collection of bruises. Her lower lip is split and swollen, and she's favoring her left leg. Her right elbow is cradled in her opposite palm, and her suit is torn in various places, revealing puckered cuts and even more purple-and-black stains on her skin.

But she's smiling.

Ivy doesn't know what to say, thrown off by Harley herself and the expression on her face, lopsided because of the swelling. She meets Ivy's eyes, and the wildness and fear is still there, but it's dimmer and some of her old energy is back, "Can we talk?"

"Erm...yeah, sure. Come in," Ivy stumbles over words and steps as she takes Harley's hand and pulls her inside, too shocked to deny her. She settles the girl on the couch and hurries to get the first-aid kit. Harley is already in her underwear when Ivy gets back, and the older woman feels sick when she realizes there is almost more bruising on Harley's body than actual skin.

Ivy gets to work cleaning cuts and bandaging the worst places, and Harley speaks in a tone filled with a bizarre mixture of pride, apprehension, and hope, "I left him, Red."

Once again, Ivy isn't sure what she's more thrown off by. The words themselves, or the fact that Harley used her pet name, like everything is okay again (But it's not, because Ivy is still hurt and still in love and she hopes Harley doesn't think she's over it so soon). Her head shoots up and she meets Harley's eyes, her mouth opening as she tries to comprehend. Instead, she chokes out "_What_?"

"I was scared when you told me you loved me. And maybe I shouldn't have run out on ya, so I'm really sorry for that. And I know that won't make you feel better but I want to try. I'm sorry. And I was scared because I knew I had feelings for you too. I had been denying them and...and then you brought _love _out into the open and I couldn't anymore, and that scared me. Then I saw you at the store and it was awkward. Sorry for that too. But I went home and then Mistah J blew up at me for somethin' stupid and I realized that I was dumb and that you're _better _than him. So tonight I told him I was leaving and well...this happened," Harley rambles, her voice slightly high with nerves. She shifts in place, filled with frightened energy and making Ivy's job more difficult because of it.

Ivy looks away, chewing on her lip so hard it leaves marks. She shakes her head and wraps a bandage just a little too tightly around Harley's wrist, inspiring a wince, "No. Sorry doesn't cut it with this Harley. And besides, you're going to go back to him. You _always _do."

Harley winces again, even though Ivy isn't touching her this time, "I mean it Ivy. Please...just give me a chance?"

"You've had your chances," Ivy bites out, the words tearing her throat and snapping her vocal chords as she releases them. But she looks up at Harley, and she knows immediately that it is the worst thing she can do. The jester looks about ready to cry, and something coiling in Ivy's gut tells her that this is what would result as soon as she saw Harley at her door, "But I guess you can stay."

Harley doesn't cheer or grin or anything that she usually would do. Instead, trembling with either fear or the energy she is suppressing, she leans down and hugs Ivy. Her bruised skin presses close, her bandaged arms locking into the slots between her shoulder-blades. Ivy closes her eyes and hugs back, letting the scent of antiseptic and vanilla drift up her nose.

The next morning, she wakes up, wrapped in Harley's embrace and warmer than she's been in a long time. And honestly, she's surprised that the other woman didn't run off in the night. She's still surprised, the next night, and the next, and the fifth. Ivy wonders if she'll ever _stop _expecting Harley to leave. She still doesn't trust her completely.

But it's a start.

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